Michael
by Aaron Decart
Summary: *Caution* AU, "Michael" Season 2 Episode 18. This is an alternate story about the Michael experiment, in which Michael is befriended by one of his guards named Major Jocelyn Gray.
1. Prologue

The first time I saw him I swear to god my heart stopped, just for a second, anyway. I mean I'm not dead so you have to get that it's a metaphor.

Now I'm not one of those swooning-types, I'm a Marine, and a damn good one too, but I swear, just for that second--I was a girl. But don't tell anyone. I'd hate to have to kill you. And I could too, like I said, I'm damn good at my job.

We didn't know who he was then, he was supposedly a Lieutenant who'd just transferred from the Earth SG program, and we knew his name was Michael. Lieutenant Michael Kenmore. He'd been involved in an incident off world, captured by the Wraith until SGA-1 rescued him. They're good at that kind of thing. Now, you might be thinking, how is it that none of us regular folk didn't realize we were getting the wool pulled over our eyes, but you have to understand: it's not like there's a cork board in the mess hall with all of the missions posted on them. Sheppard vouched for him and so did Wier, that's all that it really took.

It's amazing how stupid we really are, it takes something like this to realize exactly what a military training will get you: our superiors said it was so and we believed them. Just like sheep--figures that the CO was named Sheppard. Bloody figures.

I was assigned to watch him, told that they didn't know what the Wraith had done to him, but whatever it was, it wasn't nice and it may have repercussions. So me and ol' Vinnie Masters were up to plate, so to say. Watch him, make sure he took his medicine and stayed out of trouble like a good boy.

Damn, I'm an idiot. Always falling for the wrong man…but how was I supposed to know that he was a Wraith?


	2. Chapter 1

"Hold the ticket, Gray, I do believe that you are _blushing_." Masters grinned, looking down at his slightly smaller female counterpoint. "I didn't know you knew _how _to blush."

"Shove it." she muttered, frowning. Masters loved it when she frowned, it was--cute.

"Oh, well, I guess that it goes to show--_behind _the uniform you _are _a hot-blooded female." he chuckled. "And we'd all thought you were some sort of automaton sent to torture us with a pretty face, a nice ass, and no personality."

"Seriously, keep talking." she swung her gun towards him.

"Whoa." he held up his hands, still grinning. "Might want to watch where you point that thing, sweetheart, I hear they _may _be dangerous."

"Yea, well, I'll dangerous your _ass _if you don't shut up real fast." she told him seriously.

"Alright, alright, I'll give." he was obviously very amused. "It's just so inoften we get to see the great Ice Queen actually _react _to anything." he glanced sidelong at her. "So, this your type?" he indicated the closed door. "Always thought you went for the--pink and fluffy, if you know what I mean."

She snorted, not saying anything. They fell into a comfortable silence. In truth Masters was one of the few people she got on well with, and that ways saying something. She wouldn't admit that they were _friends_, well at least not verbally, but Masters got it. She was a good soldier and an attractive woman, you had to be shut-off to make it far with that combination. Otherwise nasty rumors start spreading about what _you're _spreading to get a promotion, and that was never good for a reputation. She tried to stay off people's radar, didn't talk much, although Masters got the impression that she just wasn't a talker.

"So what do you think _he _did to deserve _us_?" he asked, trying to make small talk. He liked Gray just fine, unless they were on patrol together, then her silence just got boring.

"You _have to _talk, don't you?" She asked.

"Yea, kind of." he replied. "Silences make me uncomfortable."

She paused before speaking. "They said he was tortured by the Wraith, that he could go psycho or something if he remembers. Something about Post-Traumatic stress and all that." she absent-mindedly chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Sucks for him."

"Yea." Masters agreed. "Wouldn't want to be in his position. Can you imagine what that'd be like? Being held by them, let alone tortured." he shivered. "Gives me the creeps."

"I think they look like Marilyn Manson." Gray commented. Masters couldn't believe his luck, seemed like she was in one of her rare "sharing" moods.

"I guess, with that Mechanical Animals bit." he replied.

"You like Manson?" She asked, looking over at him in surprise.

"Hell no, he gives me about the same creeps as the Wraith, got a girlfriend who does the Goth thing. She's into him." he shook his head. "Personally I'm more of a Keith Urban fan."

"Figures." she chuckled and fell silent.

"So, why don't you go and talk to him?" Masters suggested after contemplating how much he would miss his arm once she tore it off and beat him with it.

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "_Talk _to him?" She asked. "What are you, _twelve_? We're _on duty_, Lieutenant. I don't know what that means to you but to me it means _no flirting_."

"Ah, so you _do _want to flirt with him." Masters said triumphantly. "Haha, you're so busted."

"You seriously stopped ageing mentally at fourteen, didn't you?" She murmured.

"At least I've gained two years." he replied. "He's just _sitting _in there, look at him." he glanced over his shoulder and into the glass room. Against her better judgment Gray turned too. Sure enough he was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows leaning on his thighs, head dropped, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked--defeated. She almost felt sorry for him. "You're blushing again." Masters sang, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She punched him hard in the shoulder. "Seriously, drop it." she said coldly. "Not interested in some PTS motherfucker."

"Yea, then what kind of motherfucker _are_ you interested in?" Masters kidded.

"Uh, hey." his voice broke through their conversation, the two Marines turned, surprised, seeing the PTS motherfucker standing in his doorway. "Any chance that I could get something for this headache?" he looked between them.

"We can escort you back to the Infirmary if you want to talk to the Doctor again." Masters spoke up when he realized that his partner wasn't going to.

"Yea, that'd be good. I don't think I can sleep with all this blood pounding in my ears." he laughed uncomfortably. "Uh, let me just grab--shoes." he fumbled around for a minute, obviously disoriented.

"Are you okay?" Gray spoke up, taking a step into the room.

"I'm--not sure." he scratched his head, blinking at the lights. "I feel a little light-headed. I think I stood up too--" he didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. His head lolled back and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

"We have a medical emergency, Lieutenant Michael Kenmore is unconscious in his quarters, repeat Lieutenant Michael Kenmore is unconscious in his quarters." Masters radioed.

Gray fell to her knees beside the unconscious man, rolling him onto his back and leaning over, listening for a heartbeat. "Lieutenant, Lieutenant, can you hear me?" She asked, slapping his face gently. "Lieutenant? Answer me." she put a hand over his mouth. "He's not breathing!" She called, checking again.

She propped his head back, putting her ear over his mouth and then finding his sternum with her fingers before beginning to administer compressions. "Lieutenant, wake up!" She said, counting off in the back of her mind. "Come on, honey, you've got to wake up." she listened for air, trying one more time. "Alright, now bear with me here, this is my first time too." she murmured, pinching his nose and opening his mouth, taking a deep breath and covering his lips with hers, blowing. "One, two, three." she counted the compressions. "Still not breathing!" she exclaimed, she repeated the same process three times before medical personnel rushed into the room. She leaned over to try one more time and his eyes flew open, he sucked in a huge lungful of air, grabbing onto her shoulders, throwing her off balance and onto her back in a panic, trapping her beneath his weight, one of his hands on her chest to keep her from trying to stand.

"Michael!" Beckett cried, grabbing his shoulders and hauling him off of the stunned Marine.

She didn't move, her eyes wide, staring at the pale man gasping for air. "You alright, Gray?" Masters reached a hand out, she took it, letting him help her to her feet.

"Yea, I'm alright." she shook herself. A strange feeling had washed over her when he'd held her down. She wasn't quite sure what it was.

"I'm--sorry--" Michael gasped, looking at her apologetically. "I don't know what--came over me, it was just like, I woke up and you were over me and I--reacted."

"Yes, yes, it was just self-preservation." Beckett said, sitting his patient down and checking his pulse. "Your heart is racing. We'd better get you to the infirmary."

"What happened? What made him--pass out like that?" Gray asked, looking between the Doctor and her charge. "He said he had a headache…"

"Yes, well, it's probably just a side-effect of waking up out of a fifteen-day coma." Beckett waved her off. "Up we get, then." he helped Michael to his feet.

"What's your name?" Michael stopped being led out of the room, turning to face her.

"Major Gray." she replied.

"Thank you, Major Gray. You may've saved my life." he smiled gratefully before Beckett hauled him away.

"Thank you Major Gray, you may've saved my life." Masters imitated in a sappy voice. Gray, eyes not leaving Michael's retreating back, punched him.


	3. Chapter 2

"Nothing like a good meal to start the day." Sheppard swung into the seat opposite her, she paused, mid-chew. She liked to eat alone, and all of the other Marines knew that. She sat in the far corner going over her briefs and no one bothered her. Least of all the CO who hadn't said 'boo' to her since she'd arrived on Atlantis.

"Sir?" She asked, her mouth full of egg.

"Don't start with the saluting or else I'll have to throw you in the brig, Major." He warned with his trademark smile.

"Is that supposed to be charming, sir?" she swallowed her egg and fixed him with a hard stare.

He looked at her in surprise. "Usually it is." he replied, taking a bite of his own breakfast. "So, how goes the guarding?"

"I didn't know we were guarding anything." Gray replied.

"You know what I mean. How's Lt. Kenmore doing?" Sheppard pushed.

"He's still in the infirmary, if he weren't then I wouldn't be enjoying my delicious faux-egg breakfast alone." Gray replied evenly, putting down her papers. "Is there a particular reason to which I owe this--unexpected rendezvous or is this just standard meet-and-greet?" She asked.

"Well I've met you before--haven't I?" he asked, the first a statement, the second a question.

"Yes sir, we've met, once or twice." she finished her food and began to stand up and clear her plates away.

"Whoa, hang on there, Major, I'd like to talk to you for a minute." Sheppard said, grabbing her wrist as she began to pass him.

"About what, sir?" She asked coolly.

"About your assignment. Do you mind?" he indicated the seat she'd been sitting in.

Against her own desire she sat back down, pushing her plate away from her, and staring at her Commanding Officer. "Alright, sir."

"Good, now we're getting along." he smiled.

"Of course, sir."

"Right, so, what do you think of Lt. Kenmore?" He asked, taking a drink of his orange juice.

"Was I supposed to form an opinion about him, sir?" Gray asked.

"Well you're human. Usually humans form opinions. Particularly about other humans." Sheppard said leadingly.

"Do they, sir?" she asked shortly.

"You--don't like me, do you?" Sheppard asked.

"No sir." She replied.

"Can I ask why? Usually my charm and my boyish good looks work pretty well."

"You're my CO, sir, I'm not required to like you, and really, I don't know you. I tend not to like people I don't know. Especially not ones who are charming and boyishly good looking. Are we done here, sir?" She asked.

"No." Sheppard replied. "Kenmore, has he done anything--strange?"

"Besides faint?" Gray sat back, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Yea, I heard about that. Beckett say's he's going to be okay." he noticed that a little of the tension that'd been in the Major's shoulders relaxed. "You like him." he inferred.

"Like I said, sir--"

"You were worried about him, you're glad that he's going to be alright. Usually that denotes an opinion." he studied her repressed anger reaction. "That's not a crime, Major. You're not being interrogated, I just wanted to know if he seems--alright."

"You're _not _worried about him." She sat forward, angry that he'd read her so easily and wanting to do the same to him. "You're worried about something else."

"He has PTS. He has PTS and he's stranded on a base about as far from anything normal and familiar as possible. I'm honestly more worried about what he could do then about him in particular." Sheppard replied, feeling the same anger she'd felt about being read.

They stared at each other for a few, long minutes. "Fair enough." she sat back.

"You can go." Sheppard said, taking one more bite of food. "But if he does anything--" he looked up, but her seat was already empty. "Lovely girl."

III

"She was--uncooperative?" Elizabeth asked, sitting behind her desk and looking at her Security Chief.

"I wouldn't say--uncooperative as much as--obstinate." Sheppard said slowly. "I think she honestly just _doesn't _like me." he shook his head, mystified.

"What'd you do to make her angry?" Elizabeth smiled sympathetically. She knew that some people were just impossible to please--and unfortunately many of them had joined the military.

"I don't know." Sheppard sighed. "_But _she _does _seem to like Michael." he continued. "Which I don't get because he's a Wraith and I'm, well, I'm much more charming then a _Wraith_."

"I'd say." Elizabeth replied, her voice far-away, obviously she was thinking. After a moment she looked up. "Well if she doesn't see anything wrong with him then I think that's a good thing. It means that the treatment is working."

"Yea, about that, does Beckett know what might've caused him to black out like that?" Sheppard asked.

"He's not sure. He said something about Wraith physiology being much more resistant to change than human physiology, like the Wraith in him is fighting back, but honestly he hasn't got the first clue." she shrugged. "If something goes wrong--"

"I said that I had a bad feeling about this to start with." Sheppard pointed out. "You remember me saying that, right? I was right here and you were right there and I said…"

"Yes, I remember." Elizabeth cut in. "But, as far as I can see, this seems to be a minor setback, possibly not even related."

"You said the Wraith was fighting back."

"Yes, well, that's just a theory. In reality Beckett said it might've been something as simple as malnutrition or low blood sugar." she smiled. "It's ironic, we're telling him that he's diabetic and he might've just gone into diabetic shock." she laughed softly.

"That'd make things easier. 'Oh, you're diabetic…no really." Sheppard imitated Beckett's Scottish accent. "For god sakes, man, I'm a Doctor, not a mad gene-therapist!" they both laughed this time.

"Speaking of therapy, Doctor Heidlemeyer says that Michael is showing no signs of residual memory." Wier told him. "He seems to believe that he is 100 human."

"Well he looks human enough, but I can't shake the feeling that this is just the calm before the storm."

"I know what you mean." Wier confided. "When I look at him all I can think is--he's us. He's Wraith and all it takes is a little shot and he's _us_. What does that say about humanity?"

"That we haven't been bitten by the Hierachus bug." Sheppard replied. "And personally, I'm sort of glad. I like eating with my mouth and not my hand." he paused. "Sort of like M&Ms."

"Melts in your mouth, not in your hand." Wier smiled. "Alright, John, keep an eye on him, though, alright? And keep an eye on Major Gray, we can't have her getting too close to him. If it turns out that this experiment is a failure and he--reverts--"

"I know." Sheppard replied.


	4. Chapter 3

Michael followed Masters down the winding corridors of Atlantis, looking around for any small thing that looked familiar--but nothing came to mind. "How do you walk around here and not get lost?" he joked, glancing back at his tail--Major Gray.

"You get used to it." She replied shortly, her gun at her side, her eyes wary.

"You know--you have real pretty eyes." he said suddenly, with a smile, he heard Masters whistle from in front of him. "What?" He asked.

"Just keep your eyes forward, alright?" Gray said, her voice cooler then it'd been a minute ago. "I get along much better with people when I don't have to see their faces."

"Alright, alright, I get the picture." Michael turned away. "Not really the friendly type, huh?" he asked, not turning around.

"I'm sorry, I thought you understood that when I said I got along better with people without seeing their faces I meant I don't get along with people at all." She replied.

"Aw…" Masters started.

"Well, here's my stop." Michael stepped up to the glass door to his quarters. "Doc gave me some sleeping pills, I haven't been sleeping too good, thought they might help." he tossed them into the air and caught them again. "Think I'm going to give 'em a test run." he smiled and disappeared into the darkness of his quarters, the door snapping shut behind him.

"Oh, come on, Gray." Masters said. "He was just being nice."

"Yea, well, I'm not too interested in that." she replied, turning her back on the door and watching the hustle-bustle in the hallway in front of her.

"I can tell." Masters, thankfully, fell silent.

_Why did I snap at him like that? _Gray thought to herself. _Lt. Kenmore was just being nice. I always snap at everyone whose nice to me. _

"You ever wonder what it's like off world?" Masters interrupted her thoughts.

She looked at him dryly. "We _are _off world." She replied.

"No I mean _off _off world." Masters clarified.

"Ah. _Off _off world." she repeated.

"You know, like missions. Saving the galaxy, defeating the Wraith, that sort of thing." he continued. "I mean it's not like we haven't seen the Wraith or the Genii or anything like that, but going _there_, looking for _them _instead of waiting for them to come to us." his voice sounded excited. Gray looked over at him realizing, as if for the first time, just how young her partner was. Probably only twenty-two, maybe not even that old. He still had that 'cowboys and Indians' mentality about him. She could tell he'd probably never seen real action. She wondered briefly how he'd even made it to Atlantis.

"Maybe one day you'll grow up and they'll make you a real boy." Gray murmured. "And then you can come back and tell me all about your adventures and all the pretty girls that you saved."

"Come on, Gray." he looked over at her. "Don't you have _any _sense of adventure?"

"I've seen enough adventure, thank you." She murmured.

III

Michael tossed and turned, his mind felt uneasy, even after the sleeping pills it'd taken him hours to get to sleep. He'd listened to the conversation going on outside his door for a while and then began to count tiles before he'd finally drifted off.

_He was in a hallway, it was dark, dank, it smelled like--flesh. Oh, flesh, and blood… His brothers were all around him, he could feel them inside of his head, like tendrils, like fingers, like roots tying all of them together. They were one. _

_The walls were _breathing_…_

_There was a woman, a beautiful woman with long, red hair. He loved her, oh how he loved her, groveling at her feet, she touched his head. He felt her inside of his mind--bliss. _

_He was drifting in darkness, spinning out of control. Oh--oh--he was so hungry--_

III

"Lieutenant." she shook his shoulder, he thrashed even more violently. "Lieutenant, wake up, it's alright, Lieutenant!" she was seriously sick and tired of trying to bring this man back to consciousness. "Michael!"

He gasped, sitting up, his eyes flying open, nearly knocking her over. He'd grabbed her shoulder again, his palms sweaty. For a minute he was disoriented, looking around, confused, his bare chest heaving in the attempt to breathe. "Josie?" he whispered, recognizing her. It didn't even register that he'd used her name. "Where am I?" he asked.

"You're in your quarters, you're safe. It's alright." She said soothingly. Her grandfather had had PTS, he'd been in WWII, she knew how to deal with flashbacks. "Whatever you were dreaming, it was just a dream." she pried his hand off of her shoulder, squeezing it with her own.

"My--quarters--" he whispered, looking around and finally seeming to come to. "Uh--my head--" he groaned, falling back.

"Are you going to be alright?" She asked, dropping his hand and standing up, looking down at him.

"Yea, yea, I'll be fine." he replied. "I'm sorry, you keep having to ride to my rescue." he chuckled briefly.

"It's no problem." She said without realizing what she was saying.

He opened his eyes, looking up at her. "Thanks…again." he smiled. "I mean it. I'm going to stop being crazy soon so you don't have to keep watching me."

"That'd be nice." She replied, nodding, and then turning and leaving the room.

He sat there for a few long seconds, catching his breath. Glancing into the mirror he froze. White skin, smooth features, gray hair--that wasn't him--was it?


	5. Chapter 4

"So you've been having--dreams." Dr. Heitenmeyer asked. "It's a perfectly normal response to a traumatic event. It's the brain's way of--dealing with the stress that it's under." she smiled kindly.

"Yea, but in my dream I _was _one of the Wraith." Michael said.

"It could be sort of like Stockholm syndrome." she told him. "It's when a victim identifies with his kidnapper. His only way of dealing with the feeling of powerlessness is to idolize the person who is taking away his power. In their mind that person, the person who is in charge, is strong and brave and--valiant. Because if they've been able to conquer _them _then obviously they have to be great. Do you understand what I'm saying?" "Yea, because the Wraith were able to torture me then in some sick twisted way I think that they're the good guys…?" Michael tried.

"Not quite the good guys, but more _powerful _then you. And you _want _that power." she leaned forward, studying his face.

"Ah, I get it. I want to be powerful again so I want to be like them because they've _got _the power."

"Exactly." she sat back with a smile. "These feelings are perfectly normal for someone in your condition. For someone who has experienced the things that you've experienced."

'Yea, doc, but I don't even remember _experiencing _those things. I mean not that I'm complaining. Somehow I think that not remembering is better then remembering." he shook his head. "But still, my _whole life_?" he asked. "That's--I feel so--disconnected. I feel like I'm _wrong_. Like this isn't my life." he glanced downwards. "Like this isn't my face." he murmured.

"Not your face?" Heitenmeyer asked. "What do you mean?"

"When I woke up I--looked into the mirror and I looked--Wraith." he looked up at her. "Is _that _normal? Seeing things when I'm not asleep?"

"No, no that's not good, Michael, but it's understandable." she opened her mouth to continue, but he cut her off.

"Because I've been through a traumatic experience." he finished, she smiled and nodded. "Isn't anyone ever going to tell me exactly _what _happened?" he asked. "I mean where did you find me? What condition was I in when you found me? What'd they done to me? What was I doing when I was taken?" he asked. "All perfectly good questions and no one wants to answer them."

"I'm sure that they're all just concerned that if they tell you you might--"

"Go crazy?" Michael interjected.

"Be upset." the doctor finished. "What makes you think you're going crazy?"

"You know, I don't like being psychoanalyzed. Every question is answered with a question, this is useless." he began to stand up.

"Do you think that you are someone other than you?" the psychologist asked.

He looked down at her, open-mouthed. "What?" he asked, after a long minute.

"Feelings of--disorientation. Like you lived another life before this one. Like you aren't who you're told you are." she clarified, he sat back down.

"How--?"

"These are just normal signs of the brain trying to reassert itself into it's natural environment. It's trying to--find itself again, you might say. You've completely forgotten who you are and because of it you're very susceptible to suggestion. Even the slightest look, the littlest detail and your mind can create an entire story that isn't true. An entire life just so it doesn't have to deal with the pain of your ordeal. Or it could be the other way around, someone could tell you a story about your life and your brain can fill in the details with things that simply _aren't true_. You have to be _careful_, Michael. You have to understand that these things you're seeing, the faces in the mirror, the dreams, they _aren't you_. If you start to believe that they are then your mind can create all sorts of lies and you will _never _regain your memories."

III

Michael sat in the mess hall, chewing his food slowly. He was hungry. No matter how much he ate he was still hungry. He would have to talk to Beckett about that. Right now he had more important things to think about. Like how the very large man with dreadlocks was staring at him hatefully from across the room. He wondered if he'd done something to make him so angry. As far as he knew he'd never seen the man before--but that didn't mean much without this memories. _Without my memories. _He thought, remembering what Heitenmeyer had said. Could it be true? Could these--feelings of not belonging be what was keeping him from remembering himself? His parents? His home?

"Ah, hi." a fairly pear-shaped man stepped into his line of sight, looking down at him uncomfortably.

"Hello." Michael replied amicably.

"Yes, of course, you don't--Doctor Rodney McKay." he held out a hand to him, Michael reached out to take it, not without noticing the man's slight withdrawal.

"Do we know each other?" Michael asked, taking another bite of his unfulfilling meal.

"No, sort of, not really." McKay said. "I mean we've met, a couple of times, but it's not like we're pals." he laughed uncomfortably. "I just thought I'd--introduce myself--_re_introduce myself. Doctor Rodney McKay."

"You've said that." Michael replied with a small smile of amusement.

"Yes, yes, anyway, I'm one of the scientists here--on Atlantis--where we are." he shifted.

"Is something wrong?" Michael asked.

"Wrong? Wrong? What could be wrong? What do you mean wrong?" the scientist asked, glancing around nervously.

"You just seem sort of--on edge--" his eyes moved to the padd that the man was holding. "Wraith compressor coils." he recognized them immediately.

"What?" McKay asked, then looked down at his computer. "Yes, compressor coils."

"How did I know that?" Michael asked. "I mean it doesn't seem like something that I'd--"

"Mission." McKay said quickly. "The mission you were on, the one where you were--anyway--you were on a Wraith Hive collecting--intel--to be brought here--to me." he shifted again. "But then you got caught and, well…" he trailed off.

"Yea." Michael said vaguely. "Right…"

"Anyway, have a good lunch, just thought I'd say "hello," which I have, so I'll just be…" he turned around and walked away quickly, once again bringing the large man with dreadlocks into view. He was still staring and he was still angry.

"He was a little jumpy." Michael said, glancing up at his watchdogs.

"He usually is." Masters replied with a grin.

"Yea, but did you see--never mind." he looked down at his food, pushing it away, it suddenly seemed very disgusting to him. "The guy, over there, the big one, is he still--staring at me?" he asked, not looking up.

"Yup." Gray replied.

"Who is he?" he chanced a look up, sure enough, the man was still staring.

"Ronan Dex, he's on SGA-1." Masters supplied helpfully.

"Sheppard, he's SGA-1 too, right?" Michael asked.

"Uh huh, and McKay." Masters replied.

"It's a little weird but--only SGA-1 seems to be--jumpy around me." Michael said slowly.

"They're the ones who rescued you." Masters told him. "Maybe they saw…"

"What the Wraith were doing to me?" Michael asked. "Yea, maybe." he couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going on entirely.

III

"I don't like him." Ronan growled, glancing up at Teyla who sat next to him in the mess hall.

"You have not even met him." Teyla pointed out.

"He's a Wraith. What else do I need to know?" Ronan replied, looking across the room at the man in question. "Once a Wraith--always a Wraith."

"Beckett has made great strides with his retrovirus, perhaps that is not as true as you think it is. Look at him, he looks human, he sounds human, he hasn't given us any trouble." she said.

"He doesn't seem very hungry." Ronan said as Michael pushed away his tray. "Maybe our food isn't to his liking." he grinned maliciously. "Maybe he wants something that--squirms a little more."

"This chicken squirms just fine." Teyla frowned at the processed food and pushed it away. "I do not blame him."

Ronan picked up the last of Teyla's chicken and ate it whole. "Tastes fine to me." he said through a full mouth. Teyla looked at him, disgusted. "Whose the girl?" he asked her.

"Which girl?"

"The one guarding him." Ronan clarified.

"I do not know her." Teyla narrowed her eyes at the woman dressed in Marine garb and carrying a side-arm, she spoke briefly to Michael, not looking at him.

"Pretty." Ronan grunted.

"Honestly, do you know how to complete your sentences?" She asked him.

"Why?" Ronan grinned at her annoyance.

"She is--alright." Teyla admitted, picking at her Jell-O. She did not understand the people from Earth's fascination with food that _wiggled_. Crème Brule, cheese sticks, chicken fingers, soggy French fries, meatloaf, pudding, she just didn't get the appeal.

"What is she, you think? 5'11? 6'?" Ronan continued.

"Probably." Teyla responded.

"Now whose not finishing their sentences?" Ronan said triumphantly.

"Oh this is ridiculous." She pushed the Jell-O away. "Yes, she is quite tall."

"Bet she has great legs." Ronan continued, his eyes roving over the limbs in question.

"I do not believe that I am saying this but can you please go back to complaining about the Wraith?" She asked him.

"Why, jealous?" Ronan wiggled his eyebrows at her. _Wiggling. _She _hated _wiggling.

"No." she responded. "I am going to go and speak with him." she stood up. "We talked briefly when I took him to his quarters, I think that he would like to see a familiar face."

"Yea, yea, do me a favor?" Ronan asked. "If he makes a wrong move tell me--so I can kill him." he grinned roguishly. "Oh--and find out her name!" he called.

"Hello, Michael." Teyla smiled down at him, he looked up at her in surprise.

"Teyla." He smiled, standing up as she sat down. "It's good to see you."

"It is good to see you as well, Michael. How are you adjusting?"

"I don't know." Michael admitted. "It all just seems a little--big to me." he sighed. "I just wish I could _remember…_"

"I understand. However I think you should make the best of your life now and not worry so much about who you were. Live for your future, not for your past." she smiled, ignoring the snort that came from the general direction of the 5'11''-6' woman standing beside the table.

"Yea, well, it'd be nice to know if I have a future." he glanced up at the two Marines. "I mean if Weir trusted me she wouldn't be having me followed."

"It is just to be sure that you are alright. Last night if they had not been there to guard you you may have died." she pointed out. She resisted the urge to ask Michael the name of the woman who'd saved his life, only so that she wouldn't have to hear Ronan talking about her anymore. Sometimes she thought he did it just to annoy her.

"Well, I'm just finishing up here." Michael stood up, picking up his tray.

"I was just about to head to the gym." Teyla told him. "Would you like to join me?"

He looked at her warm smile and open, inviting face. How could he say no? At least _one _person was willing to put up with him happily. "Sure."

III

"Block, parry, block, kick, block, block." she said as she performed the move which ended in her elbow jamming into his stomach in a particularly unpleasant way.

"Ooof." he grunted, falling onto his knees and wincing in pain, trying to catch his breath. "Can you give me a little warning next time?" he joked, wincing again as she helped him to his feet.

"Now you try." she coaxed him.

"No, I can't do that." he rubbed his ribs.

"Of course you can." She said, her voice a little too sure.

"You say I'm this great fighter." Michael said. "But I don't see it."

"I have seen you fight before, you are more than capable of doing this." Teyla told him, nodding for extra emphasis.

"Alright, here goes." he fell into a fighting stance and then imitated her actions. "Block, parry, block, kick, block, block--" and instead of shoving his elbow into her stomach like she had his instinct took over, he spun, kicking out her legs, wrapping an arm around her middle and jamming the palm of his hand into her chest, accelerating her drop onto the mat. She winced and he grinned down at her, his hand still on her chest. "How was that?" He asked.

"Very good--Michael!" She exclaimed as he was lifted off of his feet and thrown into the opposite wall. He was then picked up by his throat and slammed against he wall again hard by one very angry Ronan Dex. "Ronan, put him down!" Teyla yelled. "Ronan!"

"What were you doing?" Ronan yelled.

"We were sparring!" Teyla exclaimed, afraid to make a move towards Ronan and make him accidentally snap the smaller man's neck. She'd seen him do it before. "Put him down, Ronan, he's done nothing wrong."

"Sparring? Looked more like feeding to--oomph." Michael dropped to the floor and it was Ronan's turn to be thrown into the wall to his left. Gray had rushed in at the sound of shouts, seen the scene, assessed it, and decided the best course of action would be to ram her shoulder, at full speed, into Ronan's ribs, sending him careening into the wall and effectively freeing Michael from his monolithic grasp. The man was shaped like bloody Bigfoot.

"Michael, are you alright?" She asked, helping him to sit up, he rubbed his throat, coughing profusely.

"Thanks--again." He wheezed. "Didn't I say I was going to _stop _getting myself into trouble?"

"Yea, but then what would I do?" Gray actually _smiled. _

And then she fell. Ronan stood over her, breathing heavily. He'd reacted before he'd thought, shoving her hard. She was on her feet in a second, her fist connecting with his face and then her foot hooking around his ankle, yanking his foot out from under him and toppling him onto the floor. She stood over him, angry, eyes wide.

"Stop this!" Teyla exclaimed, running between them. "Ronan, what are you _thinking_?" she hissed.

Ronan got to his feet, eyeing Gray for a minute before spitting blood to the side. "I'm thinking that if _he _doesn't _watch himself_, I'm going to kill him." he indicated Michael without looking at him. "He can't be guarded twenty-four hours a day." and with one more menacing look he turned and left.

"I am sorry for Ronan, he is not usually this--agitated." Teyla apologized to the woman, who helped Michael to his feet. Teyla couldn't help but notice, to her own dismay, that the woman and Michael held onto each other for just a spit second too long.

"What is his _problem _with me?" Michael asked, still rubbing his throat, his voice hoarse.

"He and you were--at odds the last time that you met. I do not think that he is willing to forgive you--even if you do not remember." Teyla explained.

"So just stay out of his way." Michael glanced at the door where Masters stood, a stunned look on his face.

"That may be wise." Teyla replied.

"Come on, lets get you to the infirmary. Might've ruptured something or some such." Gray said. Two _full _sentences. Masters almost gaped.

"No, I'm fine. I just want to get some sleep. I don't know why I'm so--_tired _all of the time." he followed the Marine out the door. "Teyla," he turned to her, smiling. "Thanks again. For everything."

She inclined her head towards him shortly and watched them leave before heading to report to Weir.


	6. Chapter 5

Michael rubbed his wet hair with a towel, staring at the fogged-up mirror. He'd just gotten out of the shower, the warm water had done wonders for his aching muscles. Between Teyla's "sparring" and Ronan's "when animals attack" he was more then a little tuckered. He just wanted to take a nap. With that in mind he pulled out his daily insulin, looking at the amber liquid inside. He wondered, for the thousandth time, if he had to take a shot every day why he didn't have any track marks.

Unfortunately his hands were wet and the little glass tube slipped right out of his hand and shattered on the tile floor, spilling it's contents all over. "Oh hell." he murmured, leaning down and beginning to collect the shards.

One bit into his finer, he winced, sticking it in his mouth. Pulling it back out he reexamined the wound. It was small but blood oozed from it. He blinked. Was blood supposed to be dark blue? He blinked again and it was red. Shaking his head he began to stand, he felt dizzy and for a minute his world tilted, he slid onto the floor and into blissful blackness.

_He was looking in a mirror. A foggy mirror. Reaching out he ran a hand along it to clear away some of the moisture. Inside a Wraith smiled, baring it's teeth and then slammed its fists against the glass separating them, a crack opened up…_

"Michael, are you alright?" Gray shook his shoulder. "Do you want me to get Beckett?"

"What? No, nothing but a little cut." Michael smiled, getting back to his feet.

"I'm going to start thinking you're doing this on purpose so you can get me to come rushing to your rescue." she told him seriously.

"You've found me out." he winced, rubbing his shoulder and crying out slightly as the glass embedded there tore into him.

"Oh fuck." Gray sighed. "You've gone and cut yourself. Bloody suicidal. Come on, get on up here, I'll get that out of you unless you're rethinking that infirmary trip." she offered.

"No, I'm fine, no tripp." he let her help him to his feet, stepping over the broken glass and sitting down on the end of his bed, aware of the cold as water dripped down from his hair and over his bare flesh. He thanked god that the towel around his waist had been tied tightly enough.

"What'd you go and break?" Gray asked.

"A glass." he lied, not sure why he was lying.

"Can't leave you anywhere." she murmured, retrieving tweezers from his medicine cabinet and kneeling on the bed behind him. Narrowing her eyes she began to tweeze pieces of glass out of his shoulder. "If you keep doing this I'm going to request an easier assignment--like maybe a job in the astrophysics lab." she told him.

"Work with McKay?" he asked.

"You're right, not a chance." she laughed softly.

"What's your name?" he asked her suddenly. He felt like he knew it, like it was on the tip of his tongue…

"Jocelyn." She replied without thinking. Why had she given him her first name? She _never _gave anyone her first name. Masters had had to get a look at her personnel file.

"Jocelyn." Michael repeated. "It's a nice name."

"I'm not a nice person." She replied, tweezing out a particularly large piece, he winced, nearly jumping. "See?"

"Why're you so--guarded?" he asked adventurously.

"Why are you so interested?" She replied.

"Well if you're going to follow me around everywhere I'd at least like to know a little about you." he told her truthfully. "Like--what's your favorite color?"

"What's yours?" She replied without thinking. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry…"

"Blue--I think." Michael replied. "Or maybe green."

"Blue's nice--like your eyes--" she paused, freezing and closing her eyes, she felt like stabbing a piece of the glass through her _own _eye. _Seriously? Like his eyes? _He turned face her, those blue eyes probing hers. "I'm sorry, that was--inappropriate."

"No, it's okay. I made an inappropriate comment about your eyes, now we're even." he told her.

"Yea, sure." she turned him back around.

"Is this what you were talking about? Liking people better when you can't see their faces?" he got the feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground, kidding with her like this.

"Something like this." she picked out the last piece. "There, all better." she patted his back. "Let me get something to get rid of the blood." she began to leave but he caught her wrist, looking up at her. She looked at him, surprised, he stood, she found herself very close to him. "Lieutenant." she said warningly.

He released her instantly. "I'm sorry." he apologized. "I'm just so--confused." he sat back down hard, covering his face with his hands. She grabbed a dry towel and began to clean off some of the blood. "I don't know what I'm supposed to--do. I don't feel right. I feel--I feel like my dreams are real and this isn't."

"What do you dream about?" She asked, patting his shoulder gently.

"The Wraith." Michael replied, looking back at her as she paused before resuming what she was doing. "About being one of them." she paused again, meeting his eyes. "I know, it's dumb."

She stood up, looking down at him. "Did you talk to Heitenmeyer about this?" She asked, busying herself with getting rid of the bloody towel so she didn't have to look at him.

"Yea, she said I have Stockholm or something." he replied.

"You mean like you're in love with the Wraith?" She asked, screwing her face up and looking back at him.

"Like I idolize them because they're more powerful than me." he shrugged. "I don't know." he lay back heavily. "I don't know anything."

"It'll come to you." She promised him.

"When?" he asked, his voice had a tinge of despair in it. "When am I going to remember what to wear every morning? What uniform to put on? When am I going to remember where the mess hall is, or what food I like, or what I'm allergic to, or who I'm attracted to…" he looked at her as he said the last one. She pretended not to notice. "It's just so--_frustrating_." he threw himself to his feet. "I feel like everyone knows--or at least like SGA-1 knows, like Weir knows, like _Beckett _knows--but they won't _tell _me and I don't know _why_!" he threw his hands up.

"Knows what?" She asked.

"Who I am! Like they're keeping this big _secret _from me and I'm supposed to just walk through life not knowing if I like the color yellow or not." he sighed, sitting back down. "I'm sorry. First you keep on having to save my life and now I'm telling you all of this."

"You should tell the shrink. Or Beckett. Just--talk to someone who knows more then me." she said.

"You know more then I do." Michael murmured.

"Doubtful." She snorted. "I'm just the help." and she left the room.

III

"She's _obviously _getting _way _too close to him." Sheppard said, looking down at the computer screen as the live feed of Michael grabbed Gray's wrist.

"I agree." Weir said. "Pull her out, find someone to replace her--"

"No, wait." Heitenmeyer said, pushing the 'pause' button on the video screen and zooming in on Michael's face.

"You don't think she's getting attached to him?" Sheppard asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Look at his face." she said, pointing at the screen. "He _likes_ her."

"Exactly." Sheppard said. "That's the last thing we need. Some poor Marine falling for a--well falling for _him_."

"But look at the effect she's having on him." she pointed out. "He's reacting _humanly_." there was a stunned silence as the weight of her words washed over the small, dark room. "He's obviously _attracted _to her, but it's more then that. Have we _ever _seen a Wraith show any sign of feeling or fascination with a female? No, you've got to keep her with him, if anything I think we should push for this relationship. It would be good for him. If he's going to be human then we've got to let him _be _human. Taking away the object of his affections could have the opposite effect on him. He could--withdraw--"

"Yea, but what about her?" Sheppard asked. "I mean how far could this go? What kind of damage could it do to her if she found out that he's _Wraith_?"

"The point of this experiment is to make him human and _keep _him that way." Heitenmeyer pointed out, pushing some of her blond hair out of her face. "He trusts her, Corneal. And if she feels the same way…"

"Are we really talking about letting some poor girl get involved with a Wraith?" Beckett asked, raising his eyebrows.

"We're talking about letting two people get involved with one another." Heitenmeyer corrected him. "Because if you can't stop thinking of him as a Wraith and start thinking of him as a human then this experiment has already _failed_."

Weir chewed her thumb, looking at Michael's face. He looked human, all the trademarks. "Alright." She said finally. "But only for a little while longer. If this continues this--rapidly--"

"Of course." Heitenmeyer nodded.

"I'd just like to go on the record and say this is a _bad idea_." Sheppard said.

"Noted." Weir nodded.


	7. Chapter 6

The dreams were more vivid that night. Michael could feel the squealing flesh beneath him. The pig. The food writhing, begging, he could taste them. He could feel his hunger. Oh he was so very, very hungry. So hungry. He felt like everything he was was beneath his skin clawing to get out and all he needed to do was let go.

He woke up, breathing hard, sweating, gasping for air. He felt his heart drumming in his ribcage. He felt like he would burst at the seams, explode, all of his insides spill out on the bed in a bloody, glorious pile of flesh and fire.

Getting out of bed he padded into the bathroom, putting some water on his face and staring at himself in the mirror. Was this really him? Could he really be this? So confined? So--trapped?

He slammed his fist into the mirror, it cracked. He watched it spread into a spider web, obscuring his image. He smiled.

Finally some truth.

III

"Have you been taking your medicine?" Becket asked, checking his vitals.

"Yes." Michael replied evenly.

"Every day?" he pushed.

"Yes." Michael replied evenly.

"Good. You seem to be in good health." he shone a light in Michael's eyes. "Your responses are good, reflexes, muscle-tone, brain activity. You are recovering quite nicely." he smiled, patting Michael on the shoulder. _Good dog. _Michael envisioned the Doctor saying. "Have you been to see Heightenmeyer recently?" he asked.

"I'm going there once I'm done here." Michael replied, watching the doctor busy himself with papers.

"Alright, you can go." he smiled. "But I want to see you here bright and early tomorrow morning for some tests."

"Blood tests?" Michael asked.

"Aye, just a few, nothing to worry about." Beckett promised.

"Alright." Michael nodded and walked out of the infirmary, Gray and Masters waiting for him.

"Clean bill of health?" Masters asked cheerfully. Michael hated morning people.

"All's well." Michael said, glancing at Gray, who didn't look at him.

"Well, off we go." Masters said, not missing the awkwardness between his partner and the recovering Lieutenant.

Ronan fell in step with them, following Gray closely. She glanced over her shoulder at him but decided not to acknowledge his existence, instead continuing on towards the psychiatrist's office. "How're you feeling, Lieutenant?" he asked Michael.

Michael turned to face him, stopping and looking at the bigger man. A sense of aggression took him over, he smiled, moving to stand toe-to-toe with him. "Just fine, thank you for taking an interest. How're you doing today, Mr. Dex?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Fine." he replied. "Your neck looks a bit swollen." Ronan commented.

"Can't even feel it." Michael replied. "How're your ribs?"

Ronan glanced at Gray, who stared at him. "Just fine." he growled.

"Anything else?" Michael asked.

"No." Ronan replied. "But I'm watching you." he told him.

"Then I'll keep an eye out." and Michael turned and continued towards Heitenmeyer's, a new spring to his step.

III

"So you think that everyone is keeping secrets from you." Heitenmeyer asked, fiddling with a pencil in her left hand.

"I feel like they know more then they're saying." Michael said, looking out the slotted windows. "Like there's something they're afraid to tell me."

"Does this include Major Gray?" Heitenmeyer asked, enjoying the feeling of being a panther, luring her patients into a lull only to snap them out of it with a pointed question. It was the reaction that told her everything.

"No." Michael replied, not reacting at all, not even flinching, like he'd known what she was about to say. "It's just SGA-1 and Weir--and you." he turned to face her. "The way that you look at me. Like you're--waiting for me to do something. _Be _something else."

"What do you mean by that?" Heitenmeyer asked.

"We've gone over this, doctor." he said warningly.

"Yes, but I think that I'd like to go over it again." she replied, trying to figure out why he'd had no surprise trigger. He'd been acting so human last night in his quarters with Major Gray.

"I feel trapped." he said slowly. "Like I'm wearing a person-suit." he furrowed his brow. "Like I'm something else inside…" he trailed off.

"What if you are?" she asked.

This got his attention, he turned to face her sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Well what if you are something else inside? Hypothetically speaking. How would that make you feel?" She asked, enjoying the renewed sense of power.

"Betrayed." he said.

"You automatically assume that we would know before you do. That _we're_ the liars. Why? Why wouldn't you be something else without _us_ knowing?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Because you would." He replied. "Certain things--little things--I remember. And they don't fit." he turned back towards the window. "I recognized Wraith compressor coils…"

"Part of your last mission." Heitenmeyer said.

"And I recognize Sheppard sometimes--but I don't think--I don't think that I like him--" he trailed off. "Damn it!" he slammed his hand against the window. "I _hate _this. I don't even know if I like someone or not!"

"Why not?" She asked. "You're your own person. What does it matter what you liked or didn't like before? You are perfectly capable of making your own judgments and acting on them. Like--do you like the cold?"

"Yes." Michael replied.

"Do you like music, loud sounds?"

"No."

"Being alone?"

"No."

"Chocolate?"

"No."

"Milk?"

"No."

"Heights?"

"Yes."

"Teyla?"

"Yes."

"Airman Masters?"

"No."

"Major Gray?"

"Yes--very much--" Michael murmured.

"Sex."

He turned to face her, his eyes flashing. "I--" he trailed off. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's just a question." Heitenmeyer said. "Do you like sex?"

"I--I don't know--" he looked out the window.

"Do you remember sex?" she asked.

"In a way." he cocked his head, trying to remember. "Only not--not like you mean--"

"In what way do you remember sex?" She asked.

"This is--do we have to talk about this?"

"Sex is an important part of human nature. Some could even call it the basest instinct. Many issues can spring from ignoring your--problems with it--" she studied his ridged posture. "You are very uncomfortable, aren't you?" she asked, curious.

"I remember sex, but not having it. I remember a sense of--fulfillment, but not--not like--" he shook his head. "And I remember disgust."

"Disgust?" She asked. "That's odd for a man your age."

"I remember--I don't remember anything. I remember a _feeling _of disgust. But I don't think that it was while I was--"

"You just feel disgust towards the act." Heitenmeyer inferred.

"Yes." he replied. "But no." he looked down, sitting in the chair across from her. "It's like there are two views--" he looked up at her.

"Do you want to have sex with Major Gray?" She asked.

He was up on his feet again, his eyes flashing. For a minute Heitenmeyer could swear he was about to kill her, but he calmed down. "I don't want to--talk about--this." he whispered slowly. "Please."

"Alright, alright, we won't talk about it anymore." she made a note on her clipboard. "Tell me what you think about masturbation."

Michael closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 7

Eating again. Hungry again. The food won't satisfy. He hadn't taken his dose that day, again. The first day that he didn't take it he'd felt--clearer. More himself, each of the three days after felt a little better. Today he felt muddled, a little in pain. He had gone back and taken a half-dose, wondering if it really was the insulin that Beckett had said that it was because he'd automatically felt better. He wondered if there were happy drugs in it.

He pushed his broccoli around on his plate, not paying attention to his surroundings.

"Do you mind if we join you?" Teyla asked, smiling. Michael looked up at her and Sheppard as they sat down without waiting for his response. "How are you today?" Teyla asked warmly.

"Tired." he admitted. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Still?" She asked, he nodded.

"What's been keeping you up? Trying to remember?" Sheppard asked, taking a huge bite of chicken. Why was it _always _chicken?

"Sort of." Michael replied. "It's fuzzy but--I feel like some of it is coming back." he watched as Sheppard nearly choked on his chicken, and then smiled at the personal joke. It'd been a test, he wasn't remembering anything more then flashes, but the way Sheppard had reacted when he'd said he was…

"What are you remembering?" Teyla asked, her chocolate eyes searching his.

"Nothing much. Insignificant things. Details. I feel like my memory is there, it's just not in focus." he risked a bite of his food, but felt nauseous and pushed it away.

"Does our food not appeal to you?" Teyla asked.

"Your food?" he asked. "Don't you mean our food?"

"Yes, of course." Teyla smiled, looking down at her own meal and chastising herself.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm just a little on edge." Michael admitted. "I'm just tired of tests and talking and being confined. When can I get out there? Go back to doing what I was doing before I was captured?" he looked between Sheppard and Teyla, neither of them looked at him. "Ah, I see." he said, standing up slowly. "That long, huh?"

"We have to be sure you're better before we put you out on the field and risk your life and the lives of other people." Sheppard told him.

"And I'm not--better." Michael said.

"No." Sheppard replied.

"Alright." Michael said, taking a deep breath. "Well then, I guess I'll have to make the best of--my _new _life." he said and turned, walking away.

"Do you think that he suspects something?" Teyla asked.

"He _did _say that he was having memories come back to him." Sheppard replied.

"I got the distinct impression that he said that just to get a rise out of you." She told him. "And it worked."


	9. Chapter 8

Michael watched as Masters snuck away to use the bathroom, leaving Gray by herself in front of his door. As soon as the other Marine was out of sight Michael opened the door, the woman looked at him in surprise. "Aren't you asleep yet?" She asked.

"I couldn't sleep. I was hoping maybe--we could go for a walk." Michael suggested.

"When Masters gets back--"

"Without him." Michael cut her off. "Just you and me."

"That's against--"

"Regulation?" Michael asked. "So what? What do you think I'm going to do? Start killing people?" he laughed. "Come on, just this once." he begged. "I promise that we'll be back before you can say "when will we be back?" he smiled his best Sheppard-imitation charming smile.

"Fine." She sighed.

III

"So none of this looks familiar to you?" Gray asked, looking sidelong at Michael as they stood out on one of the many balconies.

"Parts of it." Michael replied. "Mostly the outside parts." he ran his hands on the cold, metal pole. Gray moved to stand beside him, pretending not to look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Tell me about home." Michael asked her.

"Earth?" She asked. "Looks a lot like here--only more people--more pollution." she shrugged. "You're from Texas, right?"

"That's what they tell me." Michael replied.

"Never made it to Texas. I'm from New York, best state in the US, best city in the world." She grinned. "Although I spent ten years in England before I moved back. My dad was English, he was in the US as an Ambassador when he knocked my mom up. She moved back with him after she had me. They got a divorce when I was eleven and I ended back in NYC." she looked over at him. "Don't you remember your parents at all?"

"No." he shook his head. "There's this picture on my nightstand--but the people--I don't recognize them." he narrowed his eyes, looking out over the ocean waves. "I don't really recognize anything."

She squeezed his hand momentarily before letting it go, but he caught it, keeping it safe within his own. She looked over at him, opening her mouth to say something, but he leaned into her, covering her mouth with his and effectively quieting her. This was a first for her--someone was trying to shut her up.

The kiss only lasted for a minute, but it was enough to turn her war-tested knees into jelly. She steadied herself on the railing. "Should I have--not--?" he asked, studying her face, keeping her close.

"No." She shook her head slowly. "Probably not." She kissed him again.

He turned, wrapping his arms around her tightly, pulling her flush against him and kissing her deeply. There was some sort of strange satisfaction, being so close to another human being. His hand traveled up her shoulder and across her throat, resting over her chest. "I can feel your heart." he murmured into her.

"It usually beats." she replied.

"Yea, now it's doing a jig." he grinned, kissing her a third time. "I don't quite--understand this." he said, keeping her close, pressing his face in her hair.

"What?" She asked. "We broke protocol to take a midnight stroll only to make out on an unauthorized veranda. What part of that doesn't make sense?"

"The part where I think I'm falling in love with you." he replied, holding her tighter to keep her from pulling away, or to keep from having to see her reaction.

"You've known me for a week and a half. And it's not like you're in a right state of mind." she pointed out. "This is wrong." She pulled away abruptly.

"No, I'm wrong." Michael said, his anger at his powerlessness, his frustration growing up inside of him again. "This--this is right." he flung his arms over the railing, leaning forward heavily. "It's the world that's wrong."

"What're you feeling, Michael--" she reached out a hand, he spun grabbing her wrist tightly, his eyes flashing, she breathed in deeply.

"Jesus, I'm sorry." he let her go. "All of this is just--getting to me." he put his arms around her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, wanting to be held, she obliged. "Tell me what to do." he whispered.

"You've got to find yourself, Michael." she said, rubbing his back. "Otherwise nothing else matters."

"Heitenmeyer says that I should just move on--find a new me." Michael told her.

"That's bullshit. You only get one 'me.' If you're not it then you're not right." she pulled him away, looking at him. "Who are you, Michael?" She asked.

"I think--I think I'm--I think I'm a killer." He whispered.

She studied his face. "No, you're no killer." She replied with a smile. "I'd know it if you were. I'm good at seeing these things. You haven't got it in you. I think the only thing you might be able to kill is a steak." she grinned.

"Veal…" he murmured.

"You're making me hungry." she laughed.

"Hungry…" he repeated. "I'm so…" he grabbed her by the shoulders, slamming his lips into hers again, kissing her hungrily. She tried to push him away. "Please." he rasped, his eyes searching hers. She let him kiss her, his hands running down her body, finding the buckles to her flack jacket and pulling them open.

He pushed himself off of her. "Not here." he said, his voice almost a grunt. "We have to--"

"This way." she pulled him inside. They rushed down the dark corridors towards her own personal quarters, he loped behind her silently. Once inside he pushed her roughly back against the door, kissing her again. He was so damn hungry… He needed to be close to her. To be as close as--to her energy--her life--

"Do you remember sex?" Heitenmeyer asked, her eyes searching his, trying to find something that she obviously wasn't finding.

"In a way." Michael replied, images of women beneath him, crying, slowly draining dry. Images of a woman with a smooth face and long, red hair very near to him, touching him, breeding. "Only--not like you mean--"

III

He watched her while she slept. She was on her back, her short, red hair messy around her pale face, a face that was currently turned away from him, her chest slowly rising and falling in time with her breathing. So pretty. So pale. So smooth. He ran his hand down across her body, enjoying the feeling of her warmth, his own cool body pressed against hers, soaking up her heat. Taking her in. All of her. Hunger.

His hand strayed across her neck, down, running along her collarbone, resting over her heart. He felt all of that life flowing there, all of the blood, screaming, screaming, screaming. It sounded like thunder in his ears, the sound of her heartbeat. The pounding of her life right there under his fingertips.

Pulling his hand away he leaned over her and kissed her neck. She woke up slowly, blinking furiously before turning to face him. "Michael?" She asked groggily.

"Good morning." he smiled.

"You look--different--"

"I think that I've found myself." he told her, kissing her shoulder. "Last night, with you--I think I found who I was."

"You remember?" She asked, her mind giving whole new meaning to sex therapy.

"I remember--most of it." he replied. "Or at least what is important." he sat up, his face away from her. He knew that she hadn't seen him very well yet. He knew how she'd respond.

III

"Sir?" Masters called over his com. "Sir, there are fifteen doses left in here."

"Fifteen?" Beckett looked at Sheppard. "That would mean he stopped taking it--five days ago--"

"How long until he reverts?" Weir asked.

"I should say right about bloody now!" he exclaimed.

III

"Michael, what's wrong?" She asked, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "What's going on?"

"They lied to me, Josie." he said quietly. "They lied to me and they thought that I wouldn't notice."

"Who?" Gray asked.

"All of you." he replied.

III

"And they're both gone?" Weir asked.

"Yes, ma'am." Masters replied.

"Why didn't you report this?" her voice was shrill.

"Because the two of them--they get on really well, I just thought…" he trailed off. "He's got PTS and untreated diabetes. What's the worse that could happen? He goes into shock and starts talking about what the Wraith did to him?"

"Lieutenant--he _is_ a Wraith." Weir replied.

III

"What are you talking about?" She asked, moving to sit beside him.

"This." he turned to face her, anger written across his face. She gasped, sitting back hard. Overnight his face had begun to revert, his eyes black and amber, face pale, veins peeking through it. The place where his nose met his face was smooth and uncreased and small slits had appeared on either side of it. His flesh, not the pallid white that Wraith usually had, was instead a very pale peach, and all of him shone unnaturally. "This is what I am, Gray. Take a look." he jumped at her, pinning her beneath him. "Look at me!" he yelled.

"I see you!" She exclaimed.

"I wasn't tortured by the Wraith--I am Wraith." he hissed. "And all of them, they lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you, Michael." she said truthfully.

"You could love me?" Michael asked. "You said last night that you could love me--could you or was that another lie?" he asked.

"Yes." She managed. "I could love you."

He stared at her and made a strange hissing sound in the back of his throat, throwing himself onto his feet and slipping into his pants. Gray watched him closely, wearing a pair of lose blue pants and a tight, black tank top, thankful to be at least partially clothed when the Marines stormed into her bedroom.

Michael was on them before they knew what to do. He grabbed one of their guns, jamming it back into the unlucky Marine and sending him flying. He dodged a second, grabbing him around the neck and throwing him, like a rag-doll, out into the hall.

He skidded around the corner, only to be met with more Marines, turning the opposite direction he launched into action, disappearing amidst a rain of stun-phaser blasts. "Major, are you alright?" one of the Marines, Foster, asked.

"I'm fine, give me a fucking weapon." She growled, snatching it out of his hand.

"You should at least put on a flack-jacket, sir, he's dangerous--"

"Fuck off." She turned and ran after Michael.

III

"DIAL THE GATE!" he yelled, an AK from a fallen soldier at the techie's head. He held a stunner in the direction of the few others in the room. It was only three a.m., skeleton crew. The techie dialed.

"You're not getting out of here, Michael." Sheppard said, entering the room, his gun aimed at Michael's head.

"You lied to me." Michael hissed. "You kept who I was a secret and you took away my identity, my life. What gave you the right?" he growled.

"Shut down that gate." Sheppard told the techie.

"Don't." Michael barked.

"What gave you the right?" Michael repeated.

"You're a killer, Michael. You murder innocent people." Sheppard replied calmly.

"You changed who I was, you wiped my memory, how is that any different than killing me yourself?" Michael demanded.

"We were trying to help." Sheppard replied quietly. "We were trying to give you a normal life…"

"A normal life?" Michael repeated, edging down the stairs, Sheppard followed. "This isn't a normal life. This is a human life. I'm not human."

"It was better this way."

"Better than what? Better than being what I really am? You don't get to make that call." Michael replied

"We made the best call we could. You've killed thousands of people, we had to keep you from killing anyone else."

"At what expense?" he was on the Gate floor now. There was a commotion at the other side of the room and Sheppard turned to see. Michael took the opportunity to stun him.

Gray and about five other Marines had entered the room, all weapons pointed at Michael who stood about twenty feet from the open gate. "Show's over, Michael." Gray whispered. "It's time to give up. You can't kill all of us and you can't make it to the gate without us shooting you first."

"Are you so ready to kill me, Josie?" he asked, his eyes not leaving her.

"If I have to." She replied evenly. "Or you could surrender. Beckett could--change you back--"

"And erase me again." he said. "You'd have your playtoy back, but I'd lose me. That's worse than death." he hissed.

"What other option is there?" Gray asked.

"You could come with me." Michael replied.

"I'm not in the mood to be a tasty treat, Michael." she told him.

"You think I'd feed on you?" Michael asked. "I didn't lie when I said that I loved you. You lied when you said you loved me still."

Gray stared at him for a few, long seconds and then raised her gun in the air, taking a step towards him. She lay it down carefully and spread her arms. "You don't have to do this. You're not a killer."

"I'm Wraith." Michael replied. "It's not murder if it's food." he watched her as she walked towards him slowly.

"Am _I _food?" she asked.

"I already said…"

"Then stop feeding." She interrupted him. "Let Beckett turn you back and we'll tell you the truth. Who you are. And if you don't want--"

"And if I don't want to stay human? Somehow I don't think that they're going to send me on my way." Michael watched as more Marines appeared behind her, realizing that she was purposefully blocking their shots. Maybe… "Come with me." He whispered.

"Michael…" She whispered. "This is where I belong."

"Here with people who annoy you? With people who belittle you?" he asked. "Your place is with me. Out there." he nodded towards the gate.

"And then what? You go back to feeding? Killing people? And I just stand by and let you?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I can't--I'm so hungry." he whispered. She was very close now.

"I know." She replied. "Just--let Beckett--"

He swept her into his arms, holding her close, kissing her face desperately, his sharp teeth cutting her lips. He breathed in her smell.

There was a yell from behind him, he was too wrapped up in Josie to be able to turn his weapon on the approaching Ronan. Josie saw him, spinning him around and taking a glancing blast to the back. The smell of burnt flesh and hair filled Michael's nose. She slumped against him, unconscious. Michael turned his gun on Ronan, shooting haphazardly before gathering the fallen Major in his arms and turning, loping through the gate just as it was closing.


End file.
